Les Petites
by LesMisLoony
Summary: A collection of ficlets by moi. Some are insane, some are serious, some are parodies. Now featuring Jamais Aux Mes Cotes, a "deleted scene" from the Words of Love series.
1. La Nuit de l'Amour

A/N- Okay, I'm gonna start off with a bit of sanity and then move on to the fun stuff later. Enjoy!  
  
"La Nuit de l'Amour"  
  
The dead leaves covering the ground rustled, and she knew that he had arrived. He was a little late tonight, but that could be forgiven. In her blind love, she overlooked all his faults and shortcomings.  
  
He said nothing. Neither did she. They had no need to speak.  
  
He offered her his arm, and she took it.  
  
They walked together, arm in arm, through the sleeping streets of Paris. Neither noticed when the heavy clouds finally broke, spilling rain across the pavement under their feet. They walked slowly down the lamplit avenue.  
  
The two arrived at the river Seine and seated themselves on a bench.  
  
The wet pavement glistened under their feet. She smiled at their elongated shadows.  
  
Their knees brushed, and neither moved away.  
  
The trees bordering the water stretched their branches to the stars and their roots toward their reflections in the Seine. A mist rose from the river, blanketing the thin strips of beach on either side.  
  
Each enjoyed the other's presence. He put his arm around her shoulder.  
  
She didn't notice as the stars disappeared from the lightening sky. Birds began to awaken and sing to the coming of the new day.  
  
He took both of her hands in his and leaned towards her. She held her breath, waiting, expectant.  
  
Sun's first rays stretched over the horizon, and he was gone.  
  
She slowly stood and jammed her hands into her overcoat pockets. Turning away from the river, she started back down the awakening streets toward the barricade.  
  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
  
Did anyone not catch on until the end? If so, I love you. Is anyone still confused? If so, go listen to On My Own. Did anyone catch on right away? If so, review and I'll love you as much as the first category.  
  
Oh, but that doesn't mean that I don't cordially request (whatever that means) a review from the rest of you.  
  
My next fic isn't the most insane, but it's not this serious. 


	2. Je Suis La Nuit Part I

A/N- I changed my mind. I said the next ficlet would be not insane, but it is. It's very, very insane. This is a crossover between the old "Batman" TV show starring Adam West and Les Misérables. You don't need to know the show to get this, although it would help with some of the jokes. All you need is a general knowledge of Batman, Robin, and Catwoman. Thank you. Also, I am aware that telephones did not exist back then. I don't care – I need them.  
  
La Pamplemousse- Why, thank you. We're studying food in French class, and every time she says "pamplemousse" I think of Etoile.  
  
eponine-meliara- I felt like I was being too obvious with all the "misty in the river" type things... I was pretty much doing the song OMO and a little bit of Mon Histoire. Yeah...  
  
Elyse3- Then this is the ficlet for you! It's weird though, how fangirls will suddenly start hating their... person. I used to hate Fantine, but now I love her. I think it was because I only had the CD with Randy Graff on *pukes*  
  
krazy4kira- Well, this probably won't be called "lovely," but it is lots of fun. Yeah, that was the reaction I was hoping for! YAY!  
  
La Epster- Thank you muches! I could guess from your name that you identify, sorta. I almost identify... yeah; I'm a stalker. Anyway...  
  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
  
Je Suis la Nuit (Part I)  
  
Narrator: There's trouble brewing at the great bookstore of Paris City!  
  
[Clip of Ratwoman and her Ratburglars stealing copies of "Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban" from Mabeuf's store.]  
  
Narrator: And in the Paris City Supermarket...  
  
[Clip of Ratwoman and her Ratburglars stealing bottles of rat poison and mousetraps.]  
  
Narrator: And in Grantaire's Wine and Cheese Shop...  
  
[Clip of Ratwoman and her Ratburglars stealing all kinds of cheese.]  
  
Narrator: Is mischief afoot?  
  
[CUE THEME SONG.]  
  
[Muscular cartoons of Slothman and Lemur are running at the screen on a green background. A couple of bad guys pop up, and Slothman and Lemur punch them out.]  
  
Falsetto Voices: Slothman! Slothman! Slothman! Slothman!  
  
[Slothman cartoon and Lemur cartoon shake hands. Lemur fades away and Slothman turns into the little logo.]  
  
Falsetto Voices: Slothman! Slothman! Slothman! Nana nana nana nana nana nana na... Slothman!  
  
Narrator: Meanwhile, in the stately Pontmercy manor, Baron Marius Pontmercy and his youthful wife, Cosette, are about to hear the news.  
  
[Marius and Cosette are having tea with Toussaint.]  
  
[Valjean enters.]  
  
Valjean: The phone, monsieur.  
  
Marius: You may answer it, Jean.  
  
Valjean: [significantly] It's the phone in the STUDY, monsieur.  
  
[Marius and Cosette exchange glances, then rush into the study. Marius picks up the red Sloth-phone.]  
  
Marius: Yes, inspector?  
  
Javert: [sitting in his office] Slothman? We've had some minor robberies in Paris City.  
  
Marius: We'll be there right away, inspector.  
  
[Marius hangs up, then pulls back the head of the bust of Napoleon on the desk. Cosette presses the button, and a bookshelf slides over to reveal two poles labeled "Marius" and "Cosette."]  
  
Marius: To the Sloth-poles!  
  
[Marius and Cosette slide down the poles.]  
  
[In the Sloth-cave, Slothman and Lemur land on the Sloth-cushions. Slothman wears a tan leotard and brown underwear over top with a matching brown cape, mask, glove, and boots. The Slothman logo us on the chest. Lemur wears a brown leotard and shoes, black underwear on top, and a white cape. An "L" is on the chest. She also wears a Mardi-Gras type mask and black gloves.]  
  
Slothman- To the Slothmobile!  
  
[Slothman opens the door of a carriage and hops in. Lemur climbs nimbly through the window. The carriage is brown with the logo on the doors, and the horses are wearing masks.]  
  
Slothman- Don't forget your safety restraints, old chum.  
  
[He and Lemur fasten their seatbelts before the Slothmobile zooms out of the cave and past a sign that says "14 Miles to Paris."]  
  
Narrator: Our Doltish Duo arrives at the police station...  
  
[Inspector Javert and Chief Gueulemer, who has inexplicably joined the police force, are listing the robberies.]  
  
Javert: "Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban," rat poison, mousetraps, and Swiss cheese. What could it mean, Slothman?  
  
Slothman: The rat poison, mousetraps, and cheese make sense-  
  
Lemur: But the book, Slothman. Why the third Harry Potter book?  
  
Slothman: Think, Lemur. What is the main villain's animal form in "Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban"?  
  
Lemur: Holy rodent, Slothman! A rat!  
  
Slothman: Yes... all the clues point to Ratwoman.  
  
Lemur: Holy reincarnation!  
  
Javert: I thought she was dead, Slothman!  
  
Slothman: Apparently... not.  
  
Gueulemer: Wonder why she's left you these all clues.  
  
Slothman: She must be planning a big crime.  
  
Lemur: Holy heist!  
  
Slothman: I suspect we'll hear more from her before the end. First, I have an idea to trap her.  
  
Lemur: What, Slothman, what?  
  
Slothman: Think, Lemur. How do you catch a rat?  
  
Lemur: With a trap, of course!  
  
Slothman: Exactly.  
  
Javert: What are you going to do, Slothman?  
  
Slothman: You'll find out soon enough, inspector.  
  
Narrator: Back in the Sloth-cave...  
  
Lemur: So, Slothman, what's your plan?  
  
Slothman: Why is a rat attracted to a trap, old chum?  
  
Lemur: Cheese, of course.  
  
Slothman: And where do we find lots of cheese?  
  
Lemur: Holy cheddar! At the Paris City Cheese Museum!  
  
Slothman: Exactly, Lemur.  
  
[Valjean enters.]  
  
Valjean: May I be of assistance, monsieur and madame?  
  
Slothman: Yes, Jean. Can you find me the number of Muchisetta?  
  
Lemur: As in Muchisetta of Muchisetta's gossip column in the Paris City Times?  
  
Slothman: The very same.  
  
[Valjean brings the phone and dials for him.]  
  
Slothman: Thank you, Jean. That'll be all.  
  
Lemur: But can we trust her?  
  
Slothman: That's risk we're going to have to take. [into phone] Hello, is this Muchisetta?  
  
Muchisetta's voice: Yes...  
  
Slothman: This is Slothman. I'd like you to mention a cheese exhibit opening on the thirteenth floor of the Paris City Cheese Museum in your column.  
  
Muchisetta: Sure, Sloth baby.  
  
Slothman: Ick! [hangs up]  
  
Muchisetta: [Also hangs up, then picks up the phone again] Hey Ratwoman? I've gotten wind of a trap...  
  
Ratwoman's voice: Excellent...  
  
Narrator: Are Slothman and Lemur going to be caught in their own trap? Later that night...  
  
[Slothman and Lemur are standing in a dark room full of display cases holding cheese.]  
  
Lemur: Maybe she didn't take the bait, Slothman.  
  
[A Ratburglar appears in the window.]  
  
Slothman: [grabbing him] Where's Ratwoman?  
  
Ratburglar: I don't know! I swear! I'm just an innocent Ratburglar!  
  
Lemur: You lie!  
  
Ratburglar: [pause] You're right, Lemur... I do know where she is.  
  
Slothman: Where?  
  
Ratburglar: Right behind you.  
  
Lemur: We won't fall for that old trick!  
  
Ratwoman's voice: And why not, Girl Wonder?  
  
[Lemur and Slothman turn to see a girl with long, dark hair wearing a gray, one-piece, skin-tight outfit; a headband with little mouse ears on the sides; and a Mardi-Gras type mask with whiskers glued on.]  
  
Lemur: Holy irony!  
  
Ratwoman: Hello, Slothman. How are you?  
  
Slothman: I've been in... better situations.  
  
Ratwoman: I'm so sorry to do this to you.  
  
Lemur: Holy lovebirds, Slothman! I think she's sweet on you!  
  
Ratwoman: So? Get 'em, Ratburglars!  
  
[The two men (one old with a beard, one young and rather handsome) and the gamin dressed in rat costumes rush at Slothman and Lemur.]  
  
BOFF! [Lemur smacks the old Ratburglar.]  
  
BIFF! [Slothman throws the gamin into the young man, who falls on top of Lemur.]  
  
Handsome Ratburglar: Hey, baby!  
  
YEE-OW! [Slothman hits the handsome Ratburglar on the head with a piece of cheese, knocking him out.]  
  
Lemur: Gouda move, Slothman!  
  
OOF! [The bad pun knocks the little gamin Ratburglar unconscious.]  
  
Slothman: It's always good to have a ditz on your side.  
  
POW! [The elderly Ratburglar runs at Slothman, who kicks him in the kneecap.]  
  
[All of the Ratburglars are unconscious.]  
  
Ratwoman: You beat up my Ratburglars, but you won't defeat me!  
  
[Ratwoman is holding a little gun, with which she shoots green smoke at the Doltish Duo. They pass out, and Ratwoman grabs Lemur and drags her off.]  
  
Narrator: Is our Doltish Duo alright? What will Ratwoman do with Lemur? Why didn't she take Slothman too? Tune in next update for our exciting conclusion! Same Sloth-fic, same Sloth-website! 


	3. Je Suis La Nuit Part II

A/N- So, here it is. 'Tis the second part of my ficlet. Yes. You shall read it and review *swings a random piece of string back and forth* Review! Watch the thingy! You... must... review...  
  
eponine-meliara- Yup yup yup... You guessed it. And you'll see in a little bit...That review made perfect sense! Course, I'm good at understanding the language of Exhaustion... I speak it meself most the time.  
  
Elyse3- Coherency? No good. AUGH I'm tired. But yeah, the Ratburglars were Montparnasse, Thénardier, and Gavroche. And (or course) Ratwoman is Ponine... hehehe...  
  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
  
Narrator: Last update...  
  
[Picture of Ratwoman and Ratburglars stealing cheese]  
  
Narrator: A string of thefts...  
  
[Picture of Marius and Cosette answering the Sloth-phone]  
  
Narrator: Call the Doltish Duo!  
  
[Picture of Slothman and Lemur standing in the darkened cheese museum]  
  
Narrator: A trap set...  
  
[Picture of Ratwoman standing behind the Duo]  
  
Narrator: But snaps on the wrong people!  
  
[Picture of Ratwoman shooting green smoke out of the little gun]  
  
Narrator: Out for the count...  
  
[Picture of Ratwoman dragging Lemur away]  
  
Narrator: But where is she taking Lemur?  
  
[Cue theme song.]  
  
Falsetto Voices: Slothman! Slothman! Slothman! Slothman! Slothman, Slothman, Slothman! Nana nana nana nana nana nana na... Slothman!  
  
[Lemur wakes up on a platform hanging above a pit.]  
  
Ratwoman: Good morning, contestant for the man I love... I mean, Girl Wonder!  
  
Lemur: You fiend! Where's Slothman?  
  
Ratwoman: He'll be waking up all alone in the Cheese Museum about now. Then, when he finds out about your tragic death, he'll find a nice little girl on his doorstep, sick with the flu, and he'll fall in love with her while nursing her back to health! Then I'll be Lemur AND Baroness!  
  
[Lemur gasps, almost falling of the platform.]  
  
Lemur: You know our secret identities!  
  
Ratwoman: Duh, I'm a stalker.  
  
Lemur: Why did you bring me here?  
  
Ratwoman: To kill you.  
  
Lemur: Let me rephrase the question. Why did you put me on this platform thing?  
  
Ratwoman: Oh. Well, when I push this bowling ball through this twenty-foot tube, it'll hit this miniature seesaw, which will tip and knock over this lamp, which will set fire to this rope. The rope will eventually break, and that ax up there will be able to swing back and forth, slowly severing the rope that holds up your platform. You will fall into the put, where my starving trained rats will kill you!  
  
Lemur: Holy elaboration! Why don't you just shoot me?  
  
Ratwoman: *sulkily* I don't have a carbine.  
  
Lemur: Oh.  
  
Ratwoman: Goodbye, Lemur!  
  
[Ratwoman pushes the bowling ball and leaves.]  
  
Lemur: Holy predicament!  
  
Narrator: Meanwhile, at the Paris City Police Station...  
  
Javert: I don't understand, Slothman! If she hit you with knockout gas, why aren't you just now waking up?  
  
Slothman: I had on my sloth-super-anti-knockout-gas-thermal-long-underwear, which lets out an invisible forcefield that blocked the gas's harmful effects. When I saw that Lemur had forgotten hers, I decided to pretend that the gas had had an effect on me.  
  
Chief Gueulemer- Well, that's no help if we want to find the Girl Wonder.  
  
Slothman: What do you mean by that? Are you hitting on my sidekick?  
  
Gueulemer: ??  
  
Slothman: I'll have you know that I put a sloth-tracking device on Lemur years ago, after that time she got lost and ended up in some crazy place called Gotham...  
  
Javert: You know where Lemur is!  
  
Slothman: I know where Lemur is.  
  
Narrator: Moments later, Lemur may not have much time left!  
  
[The bowling ball has hit the toaster, the toast has hit the seesaw, the seesaw has hit the lamp, and the fire is slowly spreading toward the rope holding the ax.]  
  
Lemur: The edge is too far away for me to jump! I sure hope Slothman gets here in time to save me!  
  
Slothman: Don't worry, my love! I'm here!  
  
Lemur: That's all I need to know!  
  
[Slothman uses his sloth-lasso to lasso Lemur and pull her to safety just as the ax breaks the rope. The platform falls into the pit and is devoured by rats.]  
  
Lemur: My hero!  
  
Narrator: Later that day, at the stately Pontmercy manor...  
  
[Marius and Cosette are sitting on the cough, singing A Heart Full of Love, when the doorbell rings.]  
  
Doorbell: Ring.  
  
[Valjean opens the door to reveal Eponine.]  
  
Marius: Ponine! How are you?  
  
[Eponine notices Cosette.]  
  
Eponine: What the...! How did you escape my rats?  
  
Marius and Cosette: Ratwoman!  
  
Eponine: Rats! What gave me away?  
  
Marius: Eponine... do you... like me, or something?  
  
Everyone in the world: No! What gives you that idea?  
  
Marius: Because I don't love you. I love Cosette.  
  
Everyone in the world: No! Really?  
  
Eponine: You can't even give me a chance?  
  
Marius: Um... no.  
  
[In despair, Eponine runs down to the Seine and jumps off a bridge.]  
  
Cosette: Marius! *near tears* How could she?  
  
Marius: Don't worry, my love. She may be alive yet.  
  
Cosette: Even after...?  
  
Marius: She didn't die when she fell off that building, did she?  
  
Cosette: no...  
  
Marius: When she fell into the bottomless pit?  
  
Cosette: no...  
  
Marius: When she was shot at the barricades?  
  
Cosette: Apparently not...  
  
Marius: She may be alive yet.  
  
Toussaint: *running out of the house* M'sieur! Madame! Look, it says here in the paper that someone stole a loaf of bread from the bakery!  
  
Valjean: *whistles*  
  
Marius: To the study, Cosette?  
  
Cosette: To the study!  
  
[Cue credits.] 


	4. A Fanfic Carol

A/N- This story is kinda random, and it has some LOTR in it (you've been warned). Beware self-insertion. My throat hurts.  
  
Elyse3- Thank you! I actually didn't have the Valjean thing in my original draft (which I wrote during French class). I was done with the story and I thought, "What kinda crappy ending is that?" and shoved that in there. Glad it worked.  
  
eponine-meliara- Hurrah! Except... not hurrah... I hope the flying toothpaste didn't harm your computer. Well, at least you weren't laughing and drinking something, cos then it would come out your nose, and that HURTS.  
  
Mlle. Verity le Virago- That brings up the ever popular question... who's stupider: Marius or Cosette? No, seriously, I love them both. I really do. We just have an... abusive relationship.  
  
La Epster- Yes, poor Marius. He's not too quick on that sort of thing. But I'm glad I made you laugh. Yeah, Eponine's having trouble dying... but so does Catwoman.

* * *

**A Fanfic Carol  
**  
The Authoress pulled the covers up under her chin. It was awfully late. She had just written the final chapter of a ficlet in which Marius and Cosette fight crime by night. She was proud of it, despite the fact that everyone was OOC.  
  
She had also just posted the second chapter of her fic called Legeo and Gimliet, a marriage of stupidity, boredom, Tolkien, and Shakespeare that featured more OOC-ness than she had thought possible. It was rather an insult to Tolkien's great work.  
  
Just as the Authoress closed her eyes, she heard a strange sound in the hallway. A sort of rattling... there it was again! The Authoress slowly opened her door and was highly shocked to see a tall, sideburned man wrapped in chains and floating a few inches above the floor.  
  
"LesMisLoony..." he whispered hoarsely.  
  
"In- inspector Javert?"  
  
"You have defiled great works... see your punishment?"  
  
"No..." she answered blankly.  
  
"You shall be forced to dwell in a world of miserable characters for all eternity... unless you change your ways..."  
  
"Will Montparnasse be there?"  
  
"Change your ways..." the inspector repeated. "You shall be visited by three angry characters tonight... three visitations... expect the first character at midnight..." Javert disappeared.  
  
"O... kay. No more of that delicious Vanilla Coke™ that Elyse3 sent me for my birthday... it has some weird side effects. Wait...should Coke have side effects?" Confused, she closed the door.  
  
The clock on the table read 11:49 when the Authoress climbed back into bed. "Eleven minutes... maybe it'll be Sam Gamgee..." were her last thoughts as she drifted off to sleep.  
  
The Authoress awoke with a start. Her clock read 11:59. "I only got ten minutes of sleep? Alright, where's my next character?"  
  
No sooner had the question left her lips than she saw something standing by the window. "Who's there? Is that Parnasse? No... you're too small. Sam? Pip?"  
  
The figure stepped out of the shadows. It was a little girl with large, haunted eyes and dark hair. She wore a brilliant white gown that gave her an appearance of floating.  
  
"Allouette?" the Authoress asked. "Young Cosette?"  
  
The little girl nodded. "I have come to show you visions of Writers Past."  
  
"Why aren't any Lord of the Rings characters here?"  
  
"If you wish it, they will co-"  
  
"I wish it!" the Authoress interrupted.  
  
"But first you must come with me," the window flew open and Cosette held out her hand, "or chains will someday bind you."  
  
"Oh! I saw this on A Muppet's Christmas Carol!" the Authoress cried, taking the child's extended hand.  
  
As expected, the two were immediately flying above North Carolina, and then over the Atlantic Ocean. The Authoress's attempt to sing A Whole New World was hushed by Allouette.  
  
"I don't know the words anyway," she huffed.  
  
They finally landed in the backyard of a massive estate. At a word from Young Cosette, they were inside a room where an older man was asleep at a table covered in papers. "Read the papers," Allouette said quietly.  
  
The Authoress grabbed the nearest one. It said "Javert" at the top, followed by several lines scrawled in French. The Authoress, being at the end of her first year of French class, didn't understand much. The words that she saw first were LA LOI! in large capital letters. "The law?"  
  
"Character maps," Allouette explained.  
  
Sure enough, the table was covered in character maps for everyone from Montparnasse to the bishop. The Authoress turned her attention to the sleeping man. "This... this is Victor Hugo?"  
  
The child nodded. "You see, LesMisLoony, how hard he worked to keep his characters the way they were meant to be?"  
  
"Yeah, but-"  
  
The room changed and Hugo was gone. They were in a similar room, but this man was still working at his desk. The Authoress and the Lark remained silent for a while, watching him.  
  
The man was writing furiously. He suddenly stopped, shook his head, and threw his entire manuscript into the wastebin. Grabbing another clean sheet of paper, he wrote, "Chapter 1." The man stared blankly at this page for a while, threw his hands up in disgust, and left the room.  
  
"That dude just threw away, like, a hundred pages!"  
  
Young Cosette nodded.  
  
"Was that Tolkien?"  
  
Another nod. "Monsieur Tolkien was almost halfway finished with the first part of his trilogy, but he decided it wasn't quite right and started all over again."  
  
The Authoress's eye twitched. She blinked a few times, and when her eyes refocused she was back in her own room.  
  
"I leave you now," Cosette said dreamily. "Expect another visit at one in the morning."  
  
"Can it be a Lord of the Rings character?"  
  
Allouette was gone.  
  
The Authoress sighed and climbed back into bed.  
  
Again she awoke one minute before the hour.  
  
"I hope this is a guy from Middle Earth... LIKE SAM!"  
  
The Authoress became aware of a door in her wall that hadn't been there before.  
  
"Oh, I remember this part!" she said, hopping out of bed, crossing the room, and pulling open the door.  
  
It seemed that she had interrupted a song, for the man inside was in the middle of shouted "Hey, ho-" He was indeed a character by Tolkien, but he sure as heck wasn't Sam.  
  
"Who're you? You weren't in the movie!"  
  
"Hello there!" the jolly man cried, shoving a bunch of grapes into his mouth. "I know I wasn't in the movie! They left me out, much to the annoyance of some fans."  
  
"Well, I didn't miss you, and I don't want you in my room! I want Sam or Pippin!"  
  
"And _we_ all want _you_ to stop writing OOC fics!"  
  
"I don't ca... all? Even Sam?"  
  
"Well... no. Mainly just me and Merry and Legolas and Gimli and Elrond and Gandalf and Arwen and Thranduil and..."  
  
"So... everybody except Sam, Frodo, and Pippin?"  
  
"...Did I already say Legolas? Cos he's not happy... and- what? Oh, yeah...that's about right."  
  
"Well," the Authoress sighed, "I don't care about all of you. Just Sam and Pippin... and Frodo's pretty cool... I mean, it takes guts to drool all over the place on camera like that... Merry, not so much... he's trying to be Pippin or something... Oh, I like Bilbo! But I don't like Rosie Cotton! Grrrrr!"  
  
The second spirit blinked.  
  
"Can we just get on with it?"  
  
"Do you even know who I am?" he asked warily.  
  
"Uh... Santa Claus?"  
  
"No..."  
  
"Hagrid?"  
  
"Not quite. I'm-"  
  
"Tom Bombadil?"  
  
"Yes!"  
  
"Okay, that's settled. Let's go," the Authoress demanded.  
  
In a puff of jolliness, the two arrived at a graveyard.  
  
"What the... this isn't until the third spirit!"  
  
"It's not about you, ya idiot!" Tom shouted un-jollily.  
  
"If it's not about me, then why are you non-Sam and non-Montparnasse freaks bugging me when I'm trying to sleep, eh?" the Authoress shouted back.  
  
Tom Bombadil had no answer to this question.  
  
"Alright, why are we in a graveyard?"  
  
"Listen," Tom answered, a bit of his jolliness returning.  
  
The Authoress listened. She became aware of a vague thumping noise coming from a big tombstone nearby. "What? Somebody's buried alive? What does that have to do with my fanfiction?"  
  
"Be quiet! It's not alive! This is the sound of-"  
  
"Oh, I see!" the Authoress interrupted, pointing to the tombstone. "This is Victor Hugo's grave! He's rolling around in his grave, just like Alteng said Tolkien would be! So I guess that means Tolkien's doing the same thing! Cool!"  
  
Tom Bombadil smacked himself in the forehead. "You're supposed to feel bad! They can't rest in peace because of your fanfiction!"  
  
"Awesome!"  
  
Beyond annoyed, Tom Bombadil exploded into a thousand pieces.  
  
"Neat!" the Authoress shouted. "Wait... how do I get home?"  
  
She heard a clock strike two.  
  
"Oh yeah! The last spirit meets me here!"  
  
And indeed, she became aware of a tall, dark figure coming toward her.  
  
"Well, that sure as heck ain't Sam," the Authoress sighed. "Maybe Montparnasse?"  
  
The cloaked figure stood in front of her. She couldn't see his face, but a pipe emerged from his hood.  
  
"I guess the pipe means you aren't a Nazgûl. Are you Pippin sitting on Sam's shoulders? Ooh... that would rock!"  
  
He didn't answer, but slowly stuffed another pinch of weed into his pipe. Upon seeing a ring on his finger and a fingerless glove on his hand, the Authoress squealed. "Stridagorn! Yay! A character from the movie who's actually on my List!"  
  
Aragorn threw back his hood. "You are far too cheerful, Miss LesMisLoony!"  
  
"Eek! You're quoting the movie! Sorta! Yay!"  
  
Strider buried his face in his hands.  
  
"Oh, sorry. I mean... why won't you spea... um... never mind."  
  
"Let's just go."  
  
"Do you still want me to be afraid of you?"  
  
"Don't bother," he said stiffly.  
  
They stood in a room with a computer.  
  
"Whatcha want me to do?" the Authoress asked.  
  
Strider slowly raised his arm, pointing at the Internet Explorer icon on the computer's desktop.  
  
"Good job being scary," she said as she logged onto the internet. "Let me guess – you want me to go to fanfiction.net?"  
  
Strider nodded, and the Authoress did.  
  
An error message surfaced on the screen.  
  
"What?" the Authoress cried, her voice going up an octave. "I typed the address right!"  
  
Strider nodded.

"You mean... fanfiction.net no longer exists?"

He nodded again.  
  
"Take me away from this place! Please, Stridagorn, send me home! I can't take it! The horror!" the Authoress sobbed.  
  
She rubbed her eyes and looked around. "I'm back!"  
  
Indeed, the Authoress was in her own room again.  
  
"What have I learned from those characters?"  
  
She thought for a second.  
  
"Well," the Authoress sighed, "I don't know what they've taught me, but that sure will make a great ficlet!"


	5. The Death of a Horse

A/N- This one's kinda serious. I was re-reading the book (I just bought another copy) and I was at a certain part in Montreuil-sur-Mer and thought "Ooh, what if..." and, since my computer was broken at the time, I wrote in my handy-dandy fanfiction notebook. Here it is: a non-insane non-angsty story! Whoa!  
  
Andi;;- I know, right? Tom Bombadil frightens me. More than swans! And that's saying something, because a swan attacked my grandmother one time... it scarred me for life.  
  
eponine-meliara- Laughter causes whatever's in your mouth to defy gravity. It's a rule. Fanfiction.net is three-fourths of my online life. The other fourth is Le Café at lesmis.com.  
  
Elyse3- Yay! Delicious Vanilla Coke™ is amusing. How come so many people on fanfiction.net have their own trademark food? Lemon squares, grapefruits... I need to get a trademark food. Uh...  
  
Mlle Verity le Virago- Yes, the poor dear. I actually wrote a ficlet here in which I attempted to keep the characters in Hugo character! That is, Javert. But I did sort of mess him up there at the end... but oh well.  
  
The Death of a Horse  
  
Javert frowned at the man as he passed.  
  
Père Madeleine had no apparent background, no legal papers, and, oddly enough, more benevolence that any man he had ever encountered. A man such as this – rich, powerful, kind-hearted – must have a dark side... a secret in his past, perhaps.  
  
That face... it was so familiar to Javert. It tugged at his memory... there was something that he should remember. Javert had the same feeling that one has when a lone moment of a song surfaces in his mind. The harder he thinks about the snatch of tune, the further the words retreat into his memory, dancing just out of reach. This face was to Javert what that bit of music is to others. He spent weeks with this shred of information torturing him, strange ideas sliding through his thoughts.  
  
Another officer of the law?  
  
Impossible.  
  
Someone he had known in his youth?  
  
Doubtful. Who had he seen in his childhood but that wretched band of gypsies?  
  
Javert held that face in his mind for another moment. He was not a handsome man, this Madeleine. His eyes were set above deep, dark circles, and his hair was gray. These were signs of inner turmoil and, as Javert suspected, guilt. Perhaps he had known the man before he had suffered so greatly. Could age be hiding his face?  
  
When a man comes to a locked door, his natural instinct is to look inside and see what secrets it may be hiding. He finds a key on the ground, covered in dirt and rust. At an attempt to fit the key into the lock, it is found that the rust keeps it from fitting. If the rust and age were cleared, the door could be unlocked and opened, revealing the secrets were inside.  
  
Javert imagined Madeleine's face before him. He slowly changed the hair color in his mind from gray to brown, and as he did it became another face in Javert's memory. Again Javert paced up and down the chain gang in Toulon, watching the convicts breaking up boulders. His attention was drawn to the man halfway down the line, chained next to the con with the checkered suspender. This man swung his sledgehammer effortlessly, reducing a granite boulder to several manageable rocks. Javert skillfully hid his awe, but the man, sensing Javert's gaze, looked up at the inspector with dead, cold eyes.  
  
This convict had committed a minor robbery, punishable by five years, but had increased his sentence to nineteen years with several escape attempts. Now Javert had seen this man again.  
  
Madeleine was 24,601.  
  
A boy had been crouching in the shadows nearby, watching Javert in his intense concentration. This boy was a Savoyard who had come to Montreuil- sur-Mer in search of a man who was rumored to always give a forty-sous piece to passing boys like himself. However, he was not sure where to find this Madeleine. It was getting late, and the boy was hungry. He had seen this man standing quietly on the corner, his chin tucked into his greatcoat and hands pulled into his sleeves, and considered him an easy target. He knew nothing of the vicious inspector – he simply waited for the man to expose one of his pockets.  
  
The child was preparing to relieve the stranger of his purse just as Javert's grasping mind found the answer to his riddle. The little Savoyard had taken a step out of the shadows when Javert's eyes lit up with a horrible and passionate glare of victory. The inspector was suddenly holding a metal-tipped club in his hands and let out a devil's laugh. "C'est lui!" he hissed with a furious glee.  
  
The boy, afraid that this fervor was intended for him, turned around so quickly that he fell into the dirt, scraping both knees. Scrambling madly to his feet, the Savoyard dashed into the muggy night and away from this demon.  
  
Yet the glare of triumph faded from Javert's eyes almost as quickly as it had come. He, himself, was sure that this Madeleine was the convict 24,601. But how could he convince these witless and gullible townspeople of Montreuil-sur-Mer that their blessed angel came, not from God, but from Satan?  
  
The blunt club again disappeared into his greatcoat as did Javert's hands and chin. The inspector had resumed his attitude of intense of thought.  
  
He stood like this, hardly even breathing, for what must have been an hour. It began to rain, and the street slowly turned to mud. Javert shook himself, frowned, and trudged back to the station.  
  
Morning dawned with a new thought. How could this Madeleine give himself away as 24,601 without the obvious prodding from Javert? Could the inspector trick him into revealing his true identity as a con? What was something that would determine that this man was indeed 24,601?  
  
The convict 24,601 was a strong man – extraordinarily so. If Madeleine could possibly do something that only the unnaturally strong man could...  
  
But what? There was nothing.  
  
Javert, again hitting a dead-end, buttoned his greatcoat to the collar, concealed his club inside, and curled his hands inside the sleeves, as was his habit. He left the station and walked slowly along the soggy morning streets of Montreuil-sur-Mer.  
  
He stopped again to think on a muddy road deserted by all but the elderly Père Fauchelevant, who asleep in his cart. His old horse turned around and glared at Javert.  
  
The inspector frowned at the animal.  
  
Fauchelevant snored.  
  
His cart was heavy...  
  
Javert shook his head. That would be... something... there was certainly a law against the plan that was forming in his mind. Yes, of course... it was defiling another's property! And it couldn't work.  
  
Oh, but it would work. This would prove Madeleine's guilt, and Javert would have reason to denounce him. There was no one around to see. This small crime would correct a much worse one... this was all the inspector had to do.  
  
Javert made up his mind.  
  
Again the heavy iron-tipped club was in his hand. Javert looked at it, then the gray morning sky. He took one step into the muddy, unpaved street and again looked to either side.  
  
The street was still deserted.  
  
Fauchelevant's horse snorted at Javert.  
  
He glared at it, taking this as an insult. Checking to make sure that Père Fauchelevant was still asleep, Javert swung the heavy club.  
  
The horse's eyes widened as her leg was knocked out from under her. Javert hastily retreated further down the road. The poor horse collapsed and Fauchelevant was thrown from the cart, which his struggling horse succeeded in pulling on top of him. As Fauchelevant cried for help, Javert, feigning worry, sent for a jack.  
  
A crowd gathered.  
  
Javert recognized a man running down the street from the other direction.  
  
A child shouted, "Voici Père Madeleine!"  
  
Javert suppressed a smile. 


	6. A Complicated Tale

A/N- This was a world history class project. The teacher had us write something involving the Greek gods that was a story of how something came to be... did that make sense? And I, being an insane and rather obnoxious LM fan, came up with this.

Elyse3- The closest thing I have to a trademark food/drink is a cyber-cookie. I was gonna use chimichongas in The Inspector's New Groove, but it got deleted, as we know.

AmZ- I know Javert wouldn't do this, which is why he didn't. I don't take credit for being a well-researched Javert freak, so I'm sorry he isn't perfectly in character. I warned you in the author's note he wouldn't be.

nebulia- And this brings up questions of what else Javert had planned from the beginning... hmm... Arras?

Vest-Button- Why thank you. I was sitting around in French class wondering if there was anything else I could cross LM with... Batman just kinda popped up in my mind.

Weird Kitty- I say the whole thing's a conspiracy! I say the bishop planned it all! Wait... is that possible?

* * *

**A Complicated Tale**  
  
All was not well in Paris, and Zeus was not pleased. Apollo had made a bargain with Aphrodite for the spirit of a handsome young man a year or more earlier. Instead of having any interest in love, the young man, Enjolras, thought only of war. _[Teacher's Comment: "Sounds like people I know :-)"]_ He found fault with the government and even organized a group of other Parisian revolutionaries. They had spent their time searching for an opportunity to make a stand against the government, and their big moment had finally arrived. The last man who had any sympathy for the poor of Paris, one General Lamarque, was dead.  
  
On his funeral day they "honored his name" in the prearranged manner – a rallying cry that reached every ear. They poor gathered in the streets and built a barricade, preparing to make a stand against the government.  
  
Zeus watched this from Mount Olympus and frowned. He was pleased with the king of France and did not want these little revolutionaries to spoil this kingdom. He called Aphrodite and asked that she do something about this, if she could.  
  
Aphrodite, the goddess of love and jealousy, descended upon the streets of Paris. She had already visited one of these revolutionaries, Marius Pontmercy, when she caused him to fall in love with a pretty girl called Cosette Fauchelevant. Aphrodite had also visited Cosette's father and given him more than his share of jealously for her handsome suitor. Cosette's father had planned a trip to England to escape losing his daughter, leaving Marius distraught.  
  
Even before granting Cosette and Marius love, Aphrodite had been concerned with Marius's affairs. His neighbor, a beggar named Eponine, was madly in love with Marius and insanely jealous of his relationship with Cosette. Eponine had reminded Marius to come to the barricades assuming that all of the revolutionaries would be killed, and that she and Marius would die with them. If Eponine couldn't have Marius, no one could!  
  
Aphrodite began to see a plan that would help to destroy all the young men (and the girl) at the barricades. She called upon Hades, lord of the dead, and explained. He, in turn, went to Apollo, god of war, and soon the plan was to be put into action. The gods and goddesses had overlooked one man – Ultime Fauchelevant, Cosette's father.  
  
Apollo sent a gendarme over the barricade unnoticed. The man aimed his weapon at Marius. Aphrodite alerted Eponine to this and watched her put her hand across the muzzle of the piece just as the gendarme fired. The bullet passed through her hand and came out through her back. Eponine fell to the ground and dragged herself away from the fighting. Marius happened in her direction and she called to him.  
  
"Monsieur Marius!"  
  
At first Marius did not recognize her, but then he showed an extreme worry for her safety. "You're wounded!" he cried. "Is it very bad? Help, someone! But what are you doing here?"  
  
Eponine explained how she had been injured. He was properly grateful. Then Eponine told Marius why she had called him over to her. "I have a letter for you in my pocket. I was asked to post it, but I didn't. I didn't want you to get it. Take your letter."  
  
Aphrodite frowned. A letter?  
  
Eponine said, "You know, Monsieur Marius, I think I was a bit in love with you," tried to smile, and died.  
  
The letter was, of course, from Cosette. Suddenly Marius had something to live for. He rushed into the café that was being used as a sickroom and hurriedly wrote a response to Cosette's letter, which he sent to her home care of Eponine's little brother. Marius hoped to save the little boy from the onslaught to come at the barricades.  
  
None of the gods or goddesses bothered to follow the letter. They did not find it important.  
  
Apollo sent the government much strength and took many important factors of the revolution from the young men at the barricades. One of the most devout followers of the revolution, a poet called Jean Prouvaire, was killed in the first day of fighting.  
  
Enjolras realized at this point that none of them would survive the battle. He demanded that all the men who had women or children counting on them leave at once disguised as National Guardsmen. Five men were selected to live, but Apollo only gave them four dead National Guardsmen, thus only four uniforms. The entire company was assembled watching the men decide who would stay and die with the rest when suddenly a fifth National Guard uniform landed on the pile. Ultime Fauchelevant had arrived at the barricades in his own uniform, seen the problem, and remedied it. The gods were furious.  
  
The letter that was to be delivered go Cosette by little Gavroche was intercepted by Cosette's father outside of their home. He had read the letter and come to the barricade – for what purpose? – not even Zeus could be sure. Fauchelevant himself did not know. Cosette had never received the letter, but Gavroche, feeling that his job was done, had returned to the barricade.  
  
Zeus demanded that someone get some history on this Fauchelevant. Hermes arrived with a file title "Jean Valjean/Madeleine/Ultime Fauchelevant." Fauchelevant was really an escaped convict, Jean Valjean, who had decided to turn over a new leaf after breaking parole and ended up becoming mayor of a small town and adopting the child of a dead whore. _[Teacher's Comment: "Is this entirely appropriate for my classroom?"]_ Ever since he had first escaped prison, Jean Valjean had been tracked by an obsessive policeman know as Javert.  
  
Zeus laughed aloud, much to the confusion of some of the other gods. Javert was also at the barricade, have been unmasked as a spy by the boy Gavroche in one of the few moments that Apollo had not been paying attention.  
  
Jean Valjean had hardly settled himself at the barricade before he saved Enjolras from sniper fire. The young man, feeling indebted to the older one, asked how he might thank him. Valjean knew what to say. "Give me the spy, Javert. Let me take care of him."  
  
"The law is inside out, the world is upside down!" Javert shouted indignantly.  
  
Enjolras handed Valjean a musket. "This man belongs to you."  
  
Night began to fall, and Valjean inexplicably let Javert go free. The gods let out a collective gasp. "You are free, and there are no conditions. There's nothing that I blame you for. You've done your duty – nothing more."  
  
Javert left in a state of shock and disarray.  
  
The next morning Apollo bragged to Zeus, "I've got the boys. Your troubles are over."  
  
And it happened as he said. All of the revolutionaries were slaughtered – Enjolras included.  
  
Or so the gods thought. Underneath Paris an old man carried a wounded revolutionary through the sewers, braving sludge-pits, dead ends, and even robbers. This young man was taken home to his beloved, and they were wed after he had healed.  
  
Marius Pontmercy never forgot his friends and their noble cause.  
  
  
  
Victor sat up in his bed. The dream had been so real! He rushed over to his desk and quickly scribbled down what he remembered of the plot. _A story about les pauvres, the paupers,_ he thought. _A story of the wretched. A story of Les Misérables...  
_  
And on Mount Olympus, Athena, goddess of art, smiled. The seed had been planted.


	7. Karaoke Party

A/N- Okay... so I've been informed that I had my gods confused, and Apollo ain't no god of war. Oh well, my teacher didn't notice. This one is a book report from English class. The assignment was to have a party for the characters of the book you just read and create an invitation. I, being an over-achieving fanfiction-obsessed weirdo, wrote a story to go along with my card. In case you're wondering, I got a 100/A, which would be more impressive to you if you knew what a psycho my teacher was.

Danica Enjolras, Caz, Elyse3- Thanks very much! I guess I had Enjy and Greek mythology confused somehow... it's interesting that my teacher didn't notice that. As I was proof-reading that I started to wonder...

Obsetress- Ponderful? Hey, I know what it means, so it works for me. Maybe it's a word...

nebulia- I got an A, and she said something along the lines of "I love reading your projects to see how you can fit Les Miserables into them." Hehe...

* * *

Karaoke Party!  
  
I sat excitedly in the living room, which I had elaborately decorated for my party. Because it was October 8th, the anniversary of the opening of the musical _Les Misérables_, I had decided to invite all of the characters from Victor Hugo's book to enjoy the karaoke machine I'd rented. I didn't realize that I might have made a mistake by telling them to dress like they were from the twenty-first century until they began to arrive.  
  
The first guests were Fantine, wearing a halter top and the shortest shorts I'd ever seen (the poor woman); Cosette, wearing a shirt from Abercrombie & Fitch; and Marius, dressed in clothes that looked nice, but were probably from Goodwill. I showed them all to my couch, carefully putting Fantine between Cosette and Marius. The doorbell rang again.  
  
"Listen, I have to go answer the door. Just talk amongst yourselves. Here, I'll give you a topic: Cosette, that lady's your mother. Discuss," I said before rushed off.  
  
My next guests were Les Amis de l'ABC, headed by Enjolras in a red shirt and jeans. Behind him I could see Grantaire (dressed in rumpled clothes with his shirt on backwards), Jean "Jehan" Prouvaire (in an outfit that was nice, but rather out of style), Courfeyrac (wearing a shirt that said, I'm afraid, "Hey babe!"), Bossuet/L'aigle/Lesgle (a shirt with a four-leaf clover printed on the front), Combeferre (dressed quite well, I daresay), Feuilly (wearing a shirt that said in huge letters I [heart] Poland), Joly (his mouth and nose covered by a surgeon's mask), and Bahorel (his scalp covered in a wig). I motioned them in and showed them to the dining room table, although Courfeyrac stopped to talk to Marius (and, I'm sure, Cosette and Fantine).  
  
When all were seated, Enjolras decided not to sit at the table but stand on it, delivering another random speech. I was enjoying watching Les Amis' eyes glazing over when the doorbell rang yet again.  
  
I opened the door to admit the Thénardier family – Monsieur, Madame, Eponine, Azelma, Gavroche, and two random boys who never really had names. All were dressed rather shabbily, and I noticed Monsieur Thénardier eyeing my back pocket, where I had shoved my wallet. I brought them to the rest of the guests, who were all asleep but Enjolras. Thénardier gleefully rushed around the room in an attempt to relieve them of all their valuables, but a shout from Enjolras woke everyone and spoiled the old crook's fun. Eponine headed straight for Marius, much to Cosette's annoyance, while Azelma hung onto her mother's arm. Gavroche joined Les Amis, and the two younger boys followed him quietly.  
  
The next guest I admitted was, thankfully, Inspector Javert. He wore a brown overcoat with the collar turned up and a plaid hat, a magnifying glass clutched in one hand. I hid my laughter and pointed him to the rest of the party.  
  
When he had passed, I noticed a few men hiding in the bushes of my front yard – the Patron-Minette, Paris's most-feared street gang, who had seen Javert and scattered. I called them to the door, and made sure that the four most important members of the gang were there: Montparnasse, Gueulemer, Babet, and Claquesous. Montparnasse looked really, really good in an out-of-style and threadbare fifties-type suit; Gueulemer wore a white muscle shirt and frayed jeans; Babet had found a jacket that looked suspiciously like the one my next-door neighbor often wore; and Claquesous had a black ski-mask to hide his face.  
  
As soon as the Patron-Minette was shown to the living room, they rushed over to Thénardier and began to whisper, glancing around at the other guests. Inspector Javert glared at them from the other side of the room.  
  
I was about to set up the karaoke machine when I heard the doorbell ring one last time. I realized who was missing – the main character, Jean Valjean – although I hadn't really expected him to come. After all, I had informed him that Inspector Javert was planning to attend.  
  
I opened the door, but no one was standing on my porch. I looked around and was about to close it again when I heard a voice calling my name from the bushes.  
  
"Mademoiselle Erin... is Javert here yet?"  
  
"Monsieur Valjean, is that you?"  
  
"No, my name's Fauchelevant!"  
  
"Sure, whatever. Wanna come in, or are you afraid of Sherlock in there?"  
  
"Sherlock? Who's that?"  
  
"Javert. You should see the crazy costume he's wearing..."  
  
I started to describe Javert's clothes, but I trailed off upon finally spotting Valjean. He was crouched on the lowest limb of our oak tree, wearing an outfit in which it was certain no one would recognize him – a gorilla suit.  
  
"Jean Valjean, get yourself out of that tree this instant! You look a fool, do you know that?"  
  
"Maybe, but Javert won't know me."  
  
"Whatever, just come inside."  
  
The Jean-gorilla followed me to the living room. Everyone stared at him for a few moments, then went back to their conversations.  
  
I looked around the room. Cosette and Marius were chatting with Fantine while Eponine gazed sadly at them all. Azelma had joined Gavroche and the two boys in banging on my piano, while Madame Thénardier looked on with pride. Monsieur Thénardier, Babet, Claquesous, and Gueulemer were still in their little huddle, being watched intently by a very suspicious Inspector Javert. I noticed that Montparnasse was missing, and found him being preached to by Enjolras, who wanted the young thief to join in his revolution. The other Amis were watching amusedly except for Grantaire, who was desperately searching for some sort of alcoholic beverage in the kitchen.  
  
I finally hooked up my karaoke machine and held out the microphone.  
  
"Who's first?"  
  
There was no response.  
  
"Oh, do come on! And nobody can sing a song from the musical of _Les Misérables_ – that'd be cheating."  
  
A few people swore.  
  
"And I'll authorize Javert to arrest anyone who tries to leave without singing first."  
  
Javert looked smugly at the rest of the guests. "All you vermin ought to listen to mademoiselle."  
  
"They will, they will – but they'll listen to you first, my dear inspector. Come choose a song and sing it for us."  
  
The inspector blanched. "I... sing? In front of these... these..."  
  
"Yes, you. Sing. Now."  
  
Javert slowly got to his feet and trudged over to the machine, taking the microphone out of my hand. "I should have you arrested for disturbing the peace. Are you sure I can't sing 'Stars'?"  
  
"Positive. Here's the list of songs."  
  
Javert frowned at it, and finally poked a song title with his finger. "This looks promising! I'll sing that one."  
  
I glanced the title he had indicated – "Song of the King" from _Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat_.  
  
"Monsieur l'Inspecteur... are you sure?"  
  
"Of course. If I can't sing a song about my belief in God and justice, I'll sing about the king."  
  
"Remember, you picked it..."  
  
The rock'n'roll Elvis style music began, and Javert paled. Apparently remembering what I said about jailing anyone who didn't perform, Javert sighed mournfully and began to sing along with the music.  
  
"Well, I was wandering along by the banks of the river when-a seven fat cows came up outta the Nile, uh-huh... oh yeah... and-a right behind these fine healthy animals came seven other cows, skinny and vile uh-huh... oh yeah..."  
  
When the song finally ended, Javert hurried back over to his chair, head down, and tried to ignore everyone else's mirth – especially the Patron- Minette.  
  
"Okay, y'all, who's next?"  
  
No answer.  
  
"How about Enjolras and Les Amis? Marius, you wait."  
  
The group of university students reluctantly approached the microphone.  
  
"I'll let Enjolras pick, if that's okay with everybody."  
  
No one complained.  
  
"Good. Enjy?"  
  
Enjolras immediately pointed to one of the first names on the list. "That's us! We'll sing that one."  
  
"Which one?"  
  
"ABC," Enjolras answered.  
  
I smirked a little, but agreed.  
  
As Les Amis were performing the Jackson Five's most popular song, I tore my eyes away from the spectacle of chaste Enjolras singing "Shake it, shake it, baby," to scan the room for my next victim.  
  
When the students rushed back to their seats, I called up Fantine. She selected "I'd Give My Life for You" from _Miss Saigon_, a song that fitted her character.  
  
The Patron-Minette was next, and they also picked a song that suited them – "You've Got to Pick a Pocket or Two" from _Oliver!._  
  
After Marius and Cosette had done _Phantom of the Opera_'s "All I Ask of You," I called up Gavroche and his two brothers. They performed "You Two" from _Chitty Chitty Bang Bang_, followed by Madame Thénardier and Monsieur singing "If I Were A Rich Man" from _Fiddler on the Roof_ as a duet – and it was not at all odd to think of Madame as a man, considering her physical appearance. Azelma sang "Home" from _Beauty and the Beast_, and Eponine did "My White Knight" from _The Music Man_.  
  
I was certain that everyone had gone, but the gorilla cleared his throat. "Oh, sure – you should sing too. What do you want to do?"  
  
He shrugged.  
  
"Want me to pick on for you?"  
  
He nodded.  
  
"Okay then," I sighed, selecting a song and starting it.  
  
"I'm coming home, I've done my time... and I've got to know what is and isn't mine. If you received my letter tellin' you I'd soon be free, then you'll know just what to do-"  
  
Jean Valjean's lovely rendition of "Tie A Yellow Ribbon" was interrupted when Inspector Javert leapt to his feet.  
  
"It's you! Surrender, Valjean!" he shouted, rushing the poor gorilla.  
  
Jean Valjean dropped the microphone and began to run from Javert, screaming something about his sins being forgiven by the nice bishop.  
  
"The bishop! I knew there was a major character I forgot to invite," I mused. No one heard in the chaos.  
  
Javert chased Valjean around the room several times, waving his oversized magnifying glass and shouting. The two finally dashed out the door and into the street.  
  
The chase had kind of ruined my party, so I told everyone to go home – unless Montparnasse wanted to stay. He didn't, so I sighed and bid them all farewell.  
  
"See you on June 6th!" I shouted after them.  
  
And I sat down to plan the entertainment for our next party.


	8. L'Alouette et L'Enfant

A/N- This is a random idea I had when I was thinking about another random idea I had... okay, yeah. This one's supposed to be serious. Cyber-cookies and a cyber-sock handknitted by Alouette for both of my reviewers. I'm considering abandoning the collection idea and putting all these and future ficlets as separate stories. Any thoughts?

nebulia- It makes you think what everyone would have said to that. Marius would be... confused... Cosette would be surprised, and Fantine would be so happy she'd probably suffocate Cosette with hugs. Hehehe... there's a ficlet right there.

Elyse3- Random and, as both of you said, interesting. Heh... Have you noticed that in All I Ask of You _and_ AHFOL they keep interrupting each other?

* * *

**L'Alouette et L'Enfant**

Cosette drew her knees up to her chest as Madame stormed into the room.

"Cosette! Where are you, you good-for-nothing toad? _Cosette!_"

She desperately wanted to stay where she was but was sure that Madame would beat her if she did not respond. Chewing apprehensively on her lip, Cosette emerged from underneath the table.

"In your hole, were you? Good, we don't stumble over you when you're in there."

Cosette bowed her head meekly.

"It's late, and the fire died down. Go out to the woodpile in the barn and bring me a few logs."

The little girl took a nervous step toward the door.

"What are you waiting for? Go!"

That was all the encouragement Cosette needed. She fled out the door and to the barn, focusing on her goal and not the darkness around her or the snow under her feet. Throwing open the barn door, the child dashed to the woodpile, pulled three heavy logs down, and began the trip back to the tavern. The logs were thick and slowed her down, as they probably weighed more than she did.

As she was coming into the kitchen, Cosette tripped over the doorjamb and fell into the room. The wood rolled out of her arms and into the path of little Azelma, who tumbled over it and knocked her forehead against the corner of the table as she was falling. She began to scream in pain, and the baby upstairs started wailing at the sound.

Cosette jumped to her feet, lifted the nearest log, ran into the next room, threw it onto the smoldering fire, and ducked into the shadowy corner by the fireplace. She heard the Thénardiess cooing gruffly in the kitchen as Azelma's screams began to subside. Then the door swung open and the huge woman stormed into the room.

"Cosette!"

Again the child fought the irresistible impulse to show herself, but her efforts were useless. She stepped out of the corner and Madame stamped over, grabbed her wrist, and literally dragged her back into the kitchen.

Eponine had joined her little sister, and the two were whispering together delightedly. Azelma's forehead showed signs of bruising. As their mother dragged little Cosette into the room, Eponine and Azelma looked up, a vicious excitement glowing in their eyes.

"She trip 'Zelma, Maman?" asked Eponine.

"Azelma, dear," the Thénardiess corrected.

"She trip Azelma?"

Madame nodded.

"You gonna beat her?"

Another nod.

Cosette saw the woman looking for the cane and closed her eyes. A second passed, and Madame swore loudly.

"What's wrong, Maman?"

"The cane ain't here. Guess I left it in the other room."

Azelma sniffled.

Cosette was about to open her eyes again when she felt the back of Madame's hand collide with her cheek. The pain exploded in red and yellow, and the little girl couldn't help but give a whimper.

She heard a door open, and Monsieur Thénardier's voice asked, "What's going on back here?"

"Just beating the girl."

"Well, don't. We've got a rich man here, and I don't want him to get the wrong impression of our place. We need his money to come back here as often as it can." He started back into the other room, calling over his shoulder, "Bring your girls out so you can show off to him."

The Thénardiess finally released Cosette's wrist and lifted Azelma up onto her hip. "What're we doin', Maman?" Eponine frowned.

"There's a rich man here."

"Oh," the girl nodded. She grabbed Madame's skirt and trailed along as the three Thénardier women left the room, sticking her tongue out at Cosette before the door swung shut.

Cosette sighed and wandered back over to her place under the table, where she picked up her knitting. Poking the right needle carefully through the first loop, she frowned at the yarn, then dropped the needles. She didn't feel much like knitting. Her cheek hurt too badly to concentrate.

A man from the next room laughed loudly, and the Thénardier family began to laugh along with him. The noise they made woke the baby again, and he screamed.

Cosette got up and began to climb the staircase. She found the Thénardiers' room and tiptoed over to the little cradle. The boy was lying on his back, his little face scrunched up in a wail. The child watched him for a second, then, taking a furtive glance at the door, reached into the cradle and lifted the baby into her arms.

He was heavier than she would have expected, but not quite as heavy as the logs she had been carrying a half an hour earlier. She sat on the floor and held the boy in her lap. He had stopped crying and was gazing at her with large, wet eyes.

"Hello, baby."

He stared at her. She laughed and tried to make her eyes as wide as his. The boy giggled.

"Hasn't Madame fed you today? You poor thing. I wish I could take care of you, but Madame doesn't even let me have a doll, so I don't know what I can do."

The baby smiled and reached for Cosette's face. He grabbed a lock of her hair and began to tug on it. The little girl laughed again.

"We're the same, me and you. They don't want us. 'Zelma and 'Ponine just want me around so they can watch Madame hit me, you know. Does she hit you? Oh, but she's your mother. I don't have a mother, you know. My mother, I don't think she hit me. I wonder who she hit when she was mad. Look, baby, you have a tooth coming in! No wonder you've been crying so much lately. I bet that hurts."

She stopped to help him disentangle his tiny fingers from her matted hair.

"When I get big enough, I'm going to get away from here. I'm going to go find a nice lady who'll take care of me. Do you want to come with me, baby? I'll bring you. I'll carry you all the way there, and the lady will open the door and say, 'Come in, my dears. I love you both.' And she'll give us food when we're hungry and let us have toys. If I had a doll, baby, I'd give you my little sword so you could have something to play with."

The boy began to yawn.

"Don't worry, baby. Madame won't hit you. You're hers. If she's mad at you, she'll hit me. You know, I don't think I mind so much her hitting me instead of you. I'd really rather her hit 'Zelma and 'Ponine when they're bad, but not you. You aren't the mean one."

Cosette watched the baby sleep for a few minutes, then slowly set him back in his crib. "Goodnight, baby," she whispered. "Don't cry again, or Madame will hit me."


	9. Urchin

A/N- This is something I did for English class this week, mostly because we have a poetry project and the teacher said that no one in our class could write something in iambic pentameter. When people say things like that I just have to prove them wrong... don't you? So this is the result of that... "challenge."

* * *

**Urchin**

He walks the streets alone,

Small feet are bare in snow,

A cheerful song upon his lips.

His voice is drowned by icy wind;

His rags are flapping from his fragile frame

Like wings of bats or sparrows in the sky.

He tells himself that he is free

And glad to be without a home;

To wander through the town,

To turn his back on life.

But deep beneath his bright and smiling eyes

A touch of sadness always tries to hide.


	10. At the Gate

**A/N- **Another poem from the project for English! Except in this one I did nothing to prove my teacher wrong... shame. You might be able to tell it's a bookish version of OMO, but don't try to sing it or anything, it's not like that. Yes, it's been done a kajillion times, but never by me.

Elyse3- Yay, Urchin is loved! I liked that one too. Hm, now that I've posted the parts of my English homework in which I incorporated LM I'll have to start actually writing ficlets again. Ah, well.

Obsetress- Ugh I hate that! Course, it's probably even worse for the kids who're taking a regular course and know that you guys are getting Honors credit for the same thing they do. THAT would inspire me to kill, were I in CP.

nebulia- Iambic pentameter... it's this thing from poetry class involving stressed and unstressed syllables and is absolutely evil. My teacher said that we wouldn't be able to do iambic pentameter, but then to prove him wrong I did. It took a long time, too.

* * *

**At the Gate**

Side by side

On the stone bench

Perfect together

His knee brushes hers

Then jumps away

But returns

Both faces flush

Daintily

Their love

So pure

And the garden

Overgrown

Shelters them

Their idyll

-

But I

I am left here

Watching woefully

Their happiness

My solitude

My misery

Squeezing my heart

Like a fist

He takes her hand

And I brush away

A silent tear


	11. Nouveau Ami

A/N- Quick update because At the Gate is overdone. So, they probably didn't have bars and whatnot in the 1800's, I wouldn't know. Heck, I was surprised to hear they had pool and tennis. Whatever. Also, I don't really care how far I had to twist these stories to get them to fit together... I just thought it should be done.

nebulia- Depressingly overused. This idea, however, I doubt is.

Robyn-Enjolras- Thanks, I'm glad you liked it. This fic here is cute in a bizarre way...

* * *

**Nouveau Ami**

Eponine was upset.

She reached deep into her pocket and found a bit of money she had been saving for a baguette or a lemon square when she could no longer stand her aching stomach, but desperate times, you know.

Pushing open the door of the pub, she wandered over to the bar where a gentleman sat wrapped in a dark cloak and asked for a bottle of absinthe. The man behind the counter gave her one, took the money, and disappeared into the back room.

Eponine climbed up onto a stool and rested her forehead on the top of the bottle, thinking miserably about her horrible day. Opening the absinthe, she took a deep swallow and nearly choked.

"Careful," the cloaked gentleman said, "that stuff can be rough on you."

"What do I care, monsieur?" she replied irritably, almost forgetting to be courteous.

He made a move as if he had turned to look at her, but the shadows in the room and the cloak about his body made it difficult to see his face. "What's the matter, my dear?" he asked kindly.

To her horror, Eponine burst into sobs. She buried her face in her thin arms and whispered, "I took him to her house."

"Hmm," the gentleman said sympathetically.

"I don't know why I did! Well, I wanted to see him happy, of course, but I know now he'll never see me, never notice me, he has his pretty little bourgeois."

"Ah, so he doesn't love you? He loves another girl... rich, beautiful, sensitive, blonde?"

She looked up, startled. "How did you know that, monsieur?"

"Ah, my dear," he sighed, "the ailing recognize their own symptoms in another better than any doctor could."

"You mean..."

"Yes, of course. Your curses are mine, too, dear."

"Yeah, but were you stupid enough to show her to his house? Without me, he never would have found her."

The man shook his head. "I actually had her in my... ah... power, but I changed my mind."

"Why?"

"She... oh, it's difficult to understand."

Eponine smiled at him. "You seem to be a nice fellow, monsieur. Why didn't she love you? Your competitor must have been quite a man."

"Ah, it isn't about who you are, my dear... it's about your past, your lifestyle... your face."

"Why, isn't that who you are?" Eponine asked, confused.

The man took a breath to answer this question, but paused, then exhaled. "I suppose so. Tell me, have you ever been a... well, less than a respectable citizen?"

Eponine thought of Montparnasse and nodded. "Often."

"Are you well off?"

"Not at all."

"And most importantly, do you think a boy such as yours would consider you to be pretty?"

Eponine thought bitterly of her matted hair, missing teeth, and starved figure. "No, monsieur."

"There you have it, then, my dear. Your boy, he's a very pretty boy, is he not?"

"He is."

"Then," the gentleman concluded grandly, "he does not know that there is more to a person than looks. At least, that is what I..."

"Tell yourself," Eponine finished.

"Ah, very good point there, my dear."

She sighed and gazed at the bubbles floating lazily through the absinthe in front of her. "They are quite a pair, Monsieur Marius and the young lady."

"As are Christine and the Vicomte," the man added. "Perhaps it's true, then, that we are just..."

"Too ugly."

"Too violent."

"Too poor."

"Too insane."

"Too in- you took mine!"

He laughed. "Mademoiselle, I haven't the pleasure of knowing your name."

"Eponine, monsieur, Eponine Thénardier. And you?"

"I am Erik."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Monsieur Erik," Eponine smiled, holding out a bony hand. As the man reached out to take it a smell that could hardly be described as anything but, well, death assailed her. "As I said, monsieur, you seem to be a nice enough man. Why doesn't your Christine love you? You can't be that ugly, after all."

He chuckled darkly. "Oh, can't I?"

"Not as ugly as I, anyway."

The gentleman paused for a moment, then said gravely, "Would you like to see?"

"Um... yes."

"Then follow me," he instructed, rising from his seat. "We'll need to go somewhere more... well, out of the public eye."

Eponine shrugged and followed him out of the tavern and to an empty alley lit only by one streetlamp. He lowered his cape with a flourish, revealing a face covered by a mask.

"Really, monsieur, it can't be that bad."

"Just watch," he sighed, removing the mask.

Eponine had to bite her tongue to keep from screaming. Erik recognized the look of terror on her face and sighed again, making a helpless gesture with his hands. "This always happens," he muttered.

"Well," said Eponine, averting her eyes, "that was something of a surprise. But, monsieur, I know you are kind."

He laughed again. "You know me to be kind. You don't know that I am kind."

"What have you done? I'm sure you've done nothing worse than I ever have."

"Let's see, then," he smiled, replacing his mask. "Have you ever killed anyone?"

"Me, no, but I've helped my father to do so once or twice."

"Theft, of course."

"All the time."

"Well," said Erik, "have you ever kidnapped someone and forced them to stay in your underground lair until they were miserable and then threatened to blow up an entire building if they didn't agree to marry you?"

Eponine blinked. "That, no, not quite... Though it's not a bad idea."

"Anyway, I left the opera after I let Christine go, and now I'm out of a job."

"Eponine!" hissed a voice, "is that you?"

A young man joined their group.

"Hullo, Montparnasse. This is Monsieur Erik. We were just talking about... business."

The devilish dandy raised an eyebrow. "Our kind of business?"

"Exactly."

"You have any experience?" Montparnasse asked Erik.

"Loads," answered Eponine.

"In what? I write operas," Erik volunteered.

"No, our kind of work."

"Thievery, villainy?"

"Yes, that."

"Quite a bit. I've murdered, kidnapped, and stolen... what else... blackmailed, of course..."

"Two other fellows and I are meeting later on for a job. Would you like to join our group?"

"Group?"

"Yeah, we've a gang."

"Fearsome," added Eponine, "they're colombé."

"Say what?"

"Known," Montparnasse said. "It's argot."

"Ah."

"So? Are you in?"

"I suppose. Don't call me Erik, though. That shouldn't be spread too widely."

"What, then?"

"I don't know. You pick a name."

"Does it matter?" Eponine sighed.

"Do stay out of it. We don't need foolish women clucking their tongues at us."

Erik seemed to disapprove of this. "Don't treat the poor girl like that."

"And why not? It's only Eponine."

"And what is that supposed to mean, monsieur?"

"Listen," Montparnasse said, leaning toward him, "if you knew that girl the way I know her, you'd know there's not much there."

"And that, monsieur, is where you are certainly wrong. I've known her for a little less than an hour, and already I find your behavior appalling."

"Look, fine, I'm sorry, Eponine! Are you in or not for this evening?"

"In, I suppose."

"Good. Eponine, you'll show him where to go, right?"

"Yeah, Montparnasse."

"Good," he said again, and left.

Erik watched his retreat, shaking his head. "You have to put up with that and your boy loving the pretty blonde?"

"Sickening, isn't it?" Eponine agreed. "And you haven't even met my father."

"Tell me, then, what is this about a street gang?"

"The Patron-Minette. Montparnasse is at the head, along with Messieurs Babet and Gueulemer. They're always recruiting men."

Erik fingered his mask. "Will they mind never seeing my face?"

"I doubt it."

"Good. I'll help them out, then. I can be rather handy when it comes to crime. I have experience and quite a few seamless tricks."

Eponine raised her eyebrows. "What kinds of tricks?"

"Well, I'm a ventriloquist. I can make my voice come from anywhere..."

"Such as the streetlamp," the streetlamp said with Erik's voice.

"Or that house over there," said the darkened window of a nearby tenement.

Eponine stared at him, wide-eyed. "That's incredible!"

"Quite fun, too."

"There's some things Montparnasse can do, but that isn't one of them!" and, on realizing the implications of this statement, Eponine flushed. "I mean..."

"It's perfectly alright, dear, I understand. Tell me, why do you let him treat you like that?"

She lowered her gaze to the ground. "He's the only person who ever took me... made me feel loved... important... Until tonight." And she smiled at Erik.

He glanced around. "How long do we have until that job?"

"A few hours."

Impulsively, Erik grabbed Eponine's hand. "Perfect."

* * *

A/N- Hahaha I hope your eyes are all twitching!


	12. En Chemin

A/N- Joyeux Noel, mes amis! This is the best I could do for a Christmiz fic... at the moment... Muahahaha! Ahem. Anyway...

Obsetress- Wow! No one pointed out my mistake in grammar! It shoulda been Nouvel Ami... but I'm just stupid like that. Yeah, weird ficlet ideas attack me at odd times.

AmZ- I thank you for your well-informed review! _-bows a la Ben Stein-_

Elyse3- Look at all the twitching eyes! Muahahahaha! Ahem. Yes, the space time continuum was made to be distorted.

nebulia- Yay, someone else who sees the odd similarities between our friendly neighborhood opera ghost and the ever-intriguing Claquesous! Cyber cookie for seeing that...

ArgentineRose- Why, thank you! And cyber cookie for getting the Claquesousness. Verra nice, m'dear. Hehe... dotty... what a cool word.

Mlle Verity- Thank you muchly! Hehe, I think you're the only one whose eyes didn't twitch, although apparently it was only due to exhaustion... I'm so proud.

H. Sibelus- Hm... bowings there... I usually do it seperately, just cos it doesn't sound right slurred. As for In Your Embrace At Last, that shall be my next update, je le jure aux etoiles.

fell4adeadguy- Thank you for your multiple reviews!

TheSanityStealingPenguinQueen- Voila. Have I ever told you how much I like your username?

* * *

Cosette perched on the crossbar under the table and took up her knitting. The sooner she finished this sock, the sooner she could go to bed and the sooner tomorrow would come. Her tongue slipped out of her mouth as she concentrated on getting the needle through the tight loops she had made earlier.

Madame was sitting in front of the fire, Eponine and Azelma on her knees. She was telling them an enchanting story, and Cosette found herself listening in.

"And then he comes to every house and leaves a present in the good girls' shoes, while the bad girls get nothing. Then on Christmas day the good girls find their presents and can play for the rest of the day, while the bad girls must work as punishment."

"Am I a good girl, Maman?" Eponine asked, smiling to show off her missing tooth.

Madame nodded. "You are both very good girls."

In listening, Cosette had ceased knitting. The yarn and needles lay unmoving in her lap, and her face was turned toward the fireside. Madame glanced in her direction, then scowled pointedly at the idle needles. Cosette quickly began to work again.

When Madame had turned back to her girls, Cosette ventured to look at them again, then out the window at the night sky. It was dark. She was glad she had finished her chores so that she might stay in the warm tavern for the rest of this night.

She gave a little start. Had she done all her chores? Madame had moved her girls off her lap and was walking toward the cooking pot on the stove. Cosette began to chew on the inside of her cheek. Was there enough water? _Oh, please,_ she said silently, _let Madame sit down with Ponine and Zelma again! Don't let her…_

But the Thénardiess had taken a glass and attempted to fill it from the tap. It was only half-full when the trickle of water became a slow drip, and Madame said, "Bother, we're out of water."

Cosette held her breath and silently begged her to say nothing else. It was Monsieur who saved the little girl.

"Don't worry, that'll be enough," he said.

Cosette wanted to kiss the horrible man's feet, but she remained under the table, her knitting neglected in the fear of the moment. She sighed, inaudibly, of course, and returned to her work. Men came into the tavern, and she listened as they commented on how terribly dark it was this night. Every new remark made her thin hands shake.

"My horse hasn't been watered!" a voice cried.

Cosette, in panic, dropped her knitting as Madame said, "Indeed it has."

"I tell you it hasn't, mistress."

The child's mind began to fly. She saw the fearsome blackness outside and came out from under the table. "But he has, monsieur!" she piped up, her thin voice shaking in terror. "I took him water myself, a whole bucketful, and I talked to him."

"No higher than my knee and lies like a trooper!" the man growled.

He continued to speak, but Cosette did not hear. Lies! Bad little girls told lies, and bad little girls did not receive a present in the morning! How she wanted that kind man Madame had spoken of to come and give her… anything. A doll, a sou, something she could play with! Something more than her little lead sword…

It was too late to tell the truth now, Cosette decided, glancing again at the darkness outside. The man had finished speaking, and Cosette said, "All the same, he has."

"Look, there's not much in watering a horse, is there? Why not just do it?"

Anticipating Madame's agreement with his demand, Cosette scrambled back under the table and crouched by the crossbar, her heart slamming against her chest.

Madame's cruel face appeared at the other end of the table, and she hissed, "Come out of there, you!"

Cosette obeyed.

"Now, Miss-good-for-nothing, go and water that horse!"

"But Madame," she said feebly, "there's no water left…"

"Then go and get some," the Thénardiess snarled, throwing open the door to the street.

Cosette went and got the bucket, then took the fifteen-sou piece Madame gave her for the baker. When she reached the door, Cosette stopped.

Perhaps the good man from Madame's story would come now, and take her away! He would come shining through the dark, lifting the bucket out of her hands and saying, Don't worry, child, I am here! Then they would go away together, and live as fancily as they pleased, and she would have so many dolls that other girls would come from all over France to be her friend, and even Ponine and Zelma would like her!

"Get a move on," Madame shouted, and Cosette returned to the present. The good man was too late, she thought sadly as the pulled the door of the tavern closed. Perhaps he would not come.

And then she saw it – the lady! The grand, splendid lady beckoned her from the window of the stall across the street. Cosette, hardly daring to breathe, crept over and gazed at the beautiful doll. Her bucket dropped to the ground, and she thought again of the good man who would come for her tomorrow. He would give her a dress almost as beautiful as the lady's, and he would save her!

But she had lied! She had lied to the man about his horse! The good man wouldn't be able to come for her unless she was a good girl, and a liar was not a good girl. The image of the lady blurred, and Cosette reached up to wipe away a tear.

"Why, you slut! Haven't you started yet? What do you think you're doing standing there? Just you wait – I'm coming after you!"

It was Madame! Cosette took the heavy bucket up in her arms and ran, her wooden clogs sliding against her feet. It was terribly cold, and the frosty air burned in her chest, so Cosette had to slow down before long. She dragged the heavy bucket along the frightful path, stopping to rest every few moments and catch her breath.

The woods were fearsome at this time of night. Cosette knew that things were watching her right now, waiting to eat her if they saw she was scared, so she made a show of bravery, whispering to herself and keeping her head held high. Still she did not look to either side, for she did not want to see the things waiting for her.

At last she reached the well. As she filled the bucket she heard the tiny plop of something falling into the water, and her heart skipped a beat as she imagined another thing waiting to jump out and bite her. The bucket was filled and she found that she was exhausted from the effort of lifting the enormous thing, so she sat down in the grass and carefully did not look at the woods around her.

A huge, terrible star was in the sky. It was almost red, and she could imagine the devil standing on it and watching her. In her mind, he looked a lot like Monsieur. She shivered as a chill breeze rustled through the bare trees.

The girl was seized with a wave of panic, and she did not know what to do. She clamped her eyes shut and counted aloud, as high as she could, then started over again at one. Her hands were cold.

At last Cosette got to her feet and lifted the immense bucket, walked a few paces, but had to rest. She continued to move this way, making very little progress. It would take too long to get back to the tavern, and Madame would beat her. She knew that she needed help, but no one would ever help her. Even the good man from the story would not, for she was a liar. The good man did not come to liars.

But she remembered someone she had heard of that was even stronger than the good man was, and who always promised to help you, even if you lied and were a bad girl. She didn't know what he looked like, but Cosette was sure he would come if she called him.

"Oh, God help me!" she cried. "Please, dear God!"

And suddenly a hand lifted the bucket. Cosette looked up and saw that a tall, tall man had taken the bucket from her and was carrying it with ease. She did not know for certain, but she thought that perhaps God had come to help her after all.


	13. La Chassure

A/N- Another Montfermeil Christmas piece! Because I no longer have The Javvie Clause to get me into the spirit, and because school finally let out for the holidays! And because I'm procrastinating from the next chapter of The New Production.

* * *

**La Chassure**

I was going to bed when Ponine reminded me about the shoes, and so I put one of mine next to hers. Then I laughed because my shoe wasn't as big as her shoe and the way it was it looked like a person with two different sized feet had taken off their shoes there and left them there and I laughed. I told Ponine but she didn't laugh she said I was silly. Sometimes Ponine pretends she is so much older than me when really she is not but she puts on airs like that. I suppose all grown ups put on airs too because Maman and Papa do sometimes and they tell us to look pretty and dress proper and show off for strangers sometimes when the strangers have nice clothes on because then we will get new things.

We get new things anyway every month when the Lark money comes and Maman goes shopping and then sends another letter for next month and always says she needs more anyway because the prices of dresses these days are far too much and what can she buy with what she gets anymore?

In the winter the shops get set up and me and Ponine can go look at them and see all the toys and we wish sometimes there was more money because then we could get all of the pretty things there are and sometimes there are dolls which are much prettier than ours. Our doll she is old and she has some places where her skin looks like wood because it chipped off but Maman gives us bandages and we put them on those parts and then the doll just looks like she fell off the table and that is better than looking poor. When the doll falls off the table then she needs someone to help her get better and me and Ponine take care of her.

We put our shoes out that night and then we laid down in the bed and we started talking about what we would buy when the money came in our shoes in the morning. Me I said I wanted a doll that didn't fall off the table but Ponine said I was silly and said that little piece of money wouldn't buy a doll as good as the doll we had and I was dumb to want a new doll when the one we had was perfectly fine. Ponine puts on airs sometimes and acts like she is so grown up when she is not. Sometimes I hit her, but then she hits me and it hurts and Maman always tells us to stop.

We were talking in the dark when Maman came in and lit the light and said, "My dears, you haven't undressed! You'll get your pretty dresses all crinkled for tomorrow!" It was cold but Maman told us to so we got back out of our beds and took off the pretty dresses and then she unbraided Ponine's hair and smoothed mine even though with the curls I can't braid mine really. And then she kissed us and said goodnight and told us to go to sleep soon so we can get the presents in our shoes and I was excited.

I thought I was sleeping good, but I heard a floorboard creak and then I woke up and saw something moving in the dark in our room. My bed is closer to the door so I could see and I saw that there was something moving and that it was the Lark. She was coming in and I thought she was going to steal our presents and I started to wake Ponine up but then I saw she was holding one of her ugly shoes in her hand and that was not coming over to our shoes. The Lark went over and put her shoe in the corner probably so Maman wouldn't see it in the morning and she stopped and looked in our shoes, then turned and she left.

I woke up when I felt Ponine shaking my arm and at first I wanted her to go away. I wanted to go back to sleep because my bed was warm and it was cold out from under my covers. So I pushed her hand off of me and told her to go away because I wanted to sleep. She stopped for a second and I pulled the blanket up over my nose because it was cold too and then all of the sudden it was gone and I curled up in a ball in the cold air of our room. "Ponine!" I wailed, "Gimme back my blanket!"

"Zelma, you idiot, get up!" she yelled back, "We hafta look in our shoes!"

I was so excited when I remembered that I jumped up off my bed and forgot all about how cold it was and I couldn't feel my fingers or my nose. But then me and Ponine ran over to the big fireplace and got our shoes and we found money in them! I had a pretty coin that I don't know how much it was and Ponine had one too and then Maman came downstairs and said they were gifts from Père Noël. She told us they were worth ten but I didn't know how much that was so I just nodded and looked happy. Then Maman told us to get dressed because there were still customers and we couldn't be seen without our clothes and it was bitter cold, didn't we know.

I pulled on my new dress that Maman got me with the last bit of the Lark money and Ponine had one too and we put both our shoes on and Maman braided Ponine's hair again and smoothed mine again and then told us to hurry so we wouldn't be late for breakfast. I had my coin in my pocket and every few minutes I reached in and touched it and it made me happy that it was there because it meant I was a good girl.

Maman left and Ponine left and I followed her, but then Maman was in the hallway by the Lark's bed and was yelling at her because she was still asleep and she was an idiot and why wasn't she working already and go to the well now! Then I remembered how last night the Lark had put her shoe there by the fire and I thought that surely the Lark was not a good girl because Maman always hit her with the strap so I went back to the fire and saw the Lark's shoe and looked in and it was empty. Maman told the Lark to hurry up because she had to go to the spring and get water before anyone came and so the Lark jumped to her feet and put on one shoe and then she came into the room all lopsided where I was to get the other one.

The Lark ran over to her shoe and looked inside, then she picked it up and turned it upside down but only a clump of dirt fell off and there was no money in it. Then the Lark looked up and saw me watching her and her eyes got all wide like she thought I was going to beat her.

"I'm going," she said and turned to leave.

"You didn't get a present," I told her.

She nodded and started to go again.

"Why not? Were you bad?"

The Lark looked at me and her eyes were very sad and her shoulders were all drooped down like she didn't really want to stand up but she had to and she said, "I can't be good. I didn't get a present and I won't."

And she went into the kitchen and picked up the big bucket and went out to the woods. I looked at the money in my pocket and I went over to Ponine and I told her the Lark didn't get anything.

"That's because she is no better than a servant," Ponine said. She was putting on airs again.

"Why not? Isn't she a girl like we are?"

"Yeah," Ponine said, "but her Maman doesn't love her."

"Then why doesn't our Maman love her?"

"Because the Lark is stupid and she doesn't do anything right," Ponine said.

"If we lived with her Maman, would we get presents?"

Ponine shook her head. "We don't live with her Maman, because her Maman is a good-for-nothing, just like she is. The Lark doesn't get a present because nobody cares for her."

I thought about that but I wasn't really sure, because shouldn't somebody care for everybody? And then I said, "Can she play with our doll sometimes?"

"No!" Ponine said, "because she isn't good enough! God, Zelma, you're as stupid as her! Maybe you aren't really my sister! Maybe you're the Lark's sister, and you shouldn't get a present either!"

I hit Ponine then, and she hit me back, and then I pulled her braid and then she pushed me down. Maman came in and told us not to fight today because it was Christmas but I didn't care. Then Maman told us to make up and she left and so I frowned at Ponine and I told her she was mean.

"I'm not mean, I'm right," Ponine said. "Maman says the Lark isn't a real person, that she's just a servant."

"And I should be mean to her too?"

Then the Lark came back from the woods and she had filled the bucket but she had spilled some coming back and she was all wet and shivering and her lips were blue. She came into the room and looked at me and sort of smiled, but I remembered what Ponine said and so I ignored her. Her smile went away and she went under the table and started knitting my socks for when it got even colder.

After all, that was what she was good for.


	14. Pas de Blague

A/N- This fic is basically a drawn out corny joke that popped up in my head during math class. I dunno. I'm just random, I s'pose... Les Amis, by the way, are meant to be teasing Enjolras in the first bit. I promise they aren'tas crazy as they sound.

* * *

**Pas de Blague**

Enjolras frowned at Courfeyrac as he burst into the café, bringing with him a gust of wind that sent his papers fluttering around the room. The others looked up at the latecomer, and were surprised to see that the wind wasn't all that had followed him in.

"Get that thing out of here," Enjolras said stiffly.

Joly leapt to his feet and dashed to the other side of the room, shouting something about his "allerdgies."

Courfeyrac grinned at them. "Isn't he cute? He just started following me near the markets, and I figured I'd let him come along."

The scruffy brown dog trotted over to Enjolras and planted a heavy paw in the leader's lap. Enjolras frowned at the sad brown eyes and matted fur. "Get it out."

"Oh, have a heart," Courfeyrac insisted.

Jean Prouvaire was studying the animal. "He's alone, Enjolras – an orphan with no family. You believe in equality, don't you? This is just another of the poor whom you wish to liberate."

"I'd agree with you, Prouvaire," Enjolras hissed, "but the difference between the thing on my lap and the people for whom I wish to fight is that the poor… _are people_."

"That's discrimination!" Courfeyrac declared indignantly.

The dog, meanwhile, lost interest in Enjolras and began inspecting the others in the room. It was difficult to ignore Joly's cries of "Ged away! Go od! Do, dod't put your dose there! AUGH!"

Feuilly whistled, and the animal abandoned Joly and crossed to the fan-maker. "You're right, Courfeyrac," he said softly. "This fellow is an orphan."

"Oh, stop it!" Enjolras cried. "It's just an animal!"

"And I suppose we're just students," said Courfeyrac.

Exasperated, Enjolras buried his face in his hands.

"C'mere, boy." The dog returned to Courfeyrac. "I'd keep him, but I don't think dogs are allowed in my building. Does anyone want this dog? … Joly?"

"Dadt's dot fuddy, Courfeyrag. By dose ruds whed I'b dear adibals."

"Feuilly? … Jehan? … Combeferre? … Bahorel?" The men all shook their heads. "Enjolras?" The glare he received was a bit frightening. "Well, I can't just put the poor fellow back out in the streets…"

"And why not?"

"Because, dear Enjolras, I've grown attached to the little guy."

Another gust of wind upset Enjolras's papers and Laigle de Meux came rushing in. "Sorry I'm late!" he called. "Blondeau was squawking at me over some paper I have due tomorrow that he doesn't expect me to turn in. What he doesn't know is that I've already finished several pa- What is that?"

The dog had gone over to the newcomer and started sniffing him.

"Why, look at that little mutt! Who does he belong to?"

Courfeyrac shrugged. "No one."

"He's a stray? That's terrible! He's so friendly," Laigle said, scratching the animal behind the ears.

"Congratulations, Bossuet!" Courfeyrac suddenly exclaimed, "you've got a new dog!"

"Really? You don't want him?"

"I want him, I just can't keep him. And I don't think Enjolras is very pleased with his presence…"

"I see that," Laigle laughed.

* * *

Laigle stacked the papers again and counted them. All seven pages were still there. He smiled, imagining the surprise on Blondeau's face when he handed in a finished report on the day it was due. He counted the pages. Seven. The fruit of a week's labor was here in his hand. 

This delightful reverie was interrupted by a little whine. He looked over at the dog, which was curled up on his bed and staring at him with those sad brown eyes.

"What's wrong, little Joly?" he asked aloud. The animal got to its feet and hopped down from the bed, laying his head on Laigle's knee. He laughed. "Are you hungry?"

Laigle crossed the room and pulled open the cupboard. He tossed the dog a scrap of bread, which was quickly eaten. Those pleading eyes begged him for another crust. "Well, I don't have any more," Laigle sighed.

He found a few francs in his pocket and put on his hat. "I'm going to the baker's. Do you want to come?"

The dog looked at him, then returned to his bed and curled up in a tight ball.

"Well, I'll be back in a few moments."

And he went out.

* * *

Laigle returned about a half an hour later, a baguette under his arm. The door to his room was standing open. Worried, he dashed inside and found the room empty. Shreds of wet paper decorated the floor, and Laigle recognized the remains of his seven-page report.

* * *

"Everyone, bring me your essays," Blondeau demanded. All of the young men went up to the professor with papers in their hands. Laigle noted that none were as long as his had been. 

"Lesgle!" the spiteful little man said loudly. "Where is the splendid report you promised me?"

The young man got slowly to his feet and went to the front of the room. Removing his purse from his pocket, he emptied the bits of paper that were all that was left of his essay into Blondeau's outstretched hands.

Caught off guard, the professor looked at the shreds in his hands and said, "What is this, Lesgle? Where is your paper?"

"That is my paper," Laigle said forlornly.

"What on earth happened to it?"

Laigle winced. "My dog ate it."


	15. Jamais Aux Mes Cotes

A/N- Haha, flashback time! In more ways than one. 'Tis a flashback for me because I'm revisiting WOL... but also it's a flashback in the literal sense. Yes, this is a flashback that was cut from the Words of Love series, namely the threquel, In Your Embrace At Last. I cut it because, as you may have noticed if you read the story, several people remarked to Nina that they hadn't seen her since she left the show, meaning that this wouldn't have happened. Also, Ryan acted extremely weird. Anyway, this chapter's original place was after the chapter where Nina found Mark's inseparable. Yay.

Nina parked the car, went around, and got the baby out of his carseat. He opened his brown eyes lazily and reached up to grab her face.

It was getting dark, and she was sure the show would be over soon.

The stage door was thrown open, and Ryan, John, and Mark came out, laughing and talking. Ryan saw Nina first, but he just smiled thinly. "Hey, Mark, look who's here."

"Nina! You brought the baby!"

"Yeah, I figured he's old enough to be introduced to some of the biggest weirdos he'll ever meet."

"You hear that, Ryan? She must be talking about you, because we know it's not Mark... or me, of course."

"Right, John," Mark said seriously, "we've already exposed the poor kid to you."

Amanda came running out of the theater, her wedding dress still on. "Nina!" she shouted. "You're a mother!" She rushed past the men and stopped short on reaching her friend. "Oh! ... Look at that baby..."

"Wanna hold him?"

She seemed to melt at the very idea, nodding enthusiastically. Nina slowly transferred Jehan into Amanda's arms. He blinked sleepily up at the new face, yawned, and clutched at one of her curls. "Look at those big eyes! What's his name again?"

"Jehan," Mark and Nina said simultaneously.

This inspired another fit of cooing from Amanda. Mark and John joined their group, and Ryan went quietly back inside. "You named him Jehan? How cute! Aw... Nina, he kind of looks like you!"

"I should hope so."

"Amanda... d'you know you're still in costume?"

"Ah! They'll accuse me of... stealing, or something! Who wants to hold the sweet baby?"

Sam had joined them. "I do," he said quickly.

"Foreman Sam!" Nina laughed as Amanda handed him the baby and hurried back into the theater. "It's been awhile."

"It has, hasn't it? He's cute, guys."

"I'm gonna go talk to Amanda," Nina announced, taking a step toward the building. "Mark, don't let them drop the baby... Meaning don't give him to John."

"John, John! Don't you kids think anyone else is capable of doing anything wrong? It's always me!"

"You're right," Mark said. "We don't think anyone else would cause problems – I mean, just look at you! You're a regular hoodlum."

Nina smiled to herself as she went backstage. She hadn't been to the theater in about a year. Nothing had changed... she ran a hand over half the barricades and wandered over to her place by the runaway cart.

"Nina?"

She looked up quickly. "Rob! Wait... where's your sideburn rash?"

"We switched to a different brand of spirit gum," he said, running his thumb down his jaw.

"You spent a year scratching a rash when you only needed to switch to a different type of gunk?"

"Two years."

"You know what? ... Never mind."

"I hear you've brought a kid here."

"Jehan. He's outside with Mark, Foreman Sam, and John."

"You let Val-John near your son?"

"I know, right?"

"I wanna go see him. Take care, Nina. And don't wait so long till you visit us again."

She hugged him. "Don't worry about it – I'll be back soon."

After Rob had gone, Nina went to find Amanda by the dressing rooms. Ryan was leaning against the wall, staring at the floor. He glanced at her when she approached him. "Have you seen Amanda?"

"She left already," he answered, not quite meeting her gaze.

Nina chewed on her lip. "I thought you were outside."

He nodded.

There was a pause, but he didn't offer any new information. Nina sighed. "Ryan... you used to be a lot more talkative. What happened?"

He shrugged. "I dunno... something changed."

"Well," Nina said quietly, "It's been nice seeing you. We had some good times in this show."

He blinked, then finally looked into her eyes. "We miss you."

Nina found that she couldn't keep eye contact with him. There was something... odd... about the way he seemed to stare at her... almost anxiously. She had always thought his eyes beautiful, for they seemed to change colors in different lights. Now they were dark brown: the same color as baby Jehan's.

The same color as Jehan's father's.

"I'll see you later," she muttered, hurrying back outside to Mark and John.


End file.
